Marvel: Bloodstorm

The old wooden door creaked as it opened, revealing the dimly lit interior of an aging house.

One by one, the Hydra agents stepped inside, their boots clinking against the wooden floor.

The woman leading them strode through the house with an air of confidence, her movements unhurried. Behind her, the younger operatives followed cautiously, their eyes scanning every detail of their new residence.

The house was modest by most standards, but Zemo found it acceptable for their mission's purposes.

For Vlad and Ophelia, however, it was far more comfortable than they had anticipated.

The space was practical, featuring a small living room, a central kitchen, and three bedrooms.

Their new instructor had already informed them of the sleeping arrangements: the boys were to share one room, while the girl and the instructor each had separate rooms.

While neither Vlad nor Zemo had much to say about the arrangement, Ophelia was less than pleased.

She didn't vocalize her objections, but she was deeply annoyed at the prospect of being separated from Vlad.

She had secretly hoped they would share a room—though not for any innocent reason.

Now, the knowledge that Zemo would be sharing Vlad's room left her glaring daggers at him.

Oblivious to her frustration, Zemo couldn't help but shiver, confused by the sudden chill he felt from her direction.

Their instructor soon emerged from her room, dressed in a sleek black gown that exuded authority. A lit cigar hung from her lips, the smoke curling around her as she stood before them.

She fixed her piercing gaze on the group, her tone sharp and commanding.

"Team meeting in an hour," she announced. "Clean yourselves up before then, you guys stink."

The agents nodded silently, dispersing to their respective rooms to prepare.

---

Zemo's room was small and sparsely furnished. Two twin beds were positioned parallel to each other, a window sat on the far wall, and a small wooden desk occupied a corner.

Vlad tossed his bag onto the bed on the left and pulled out a change of clothes. Before he could head for the shower, Zemo had already claimed it.

Vlad sighed, dropping onto the bed with an annoyed groan. He closed his eyes, deciding to wait until Zemo was done. But ten minutes later, Zemo emerged from the bathroom, casually drying his hair with a towel.

"I think I used up all the hot water," Zemo said, almost as an afterthought.

"Seriously?" Vlad frowned, glaring at him.

"Sorry," Zemo replied with a shrug, clearly unapologetic as he continued drying off.

Clicking his tongue in frustration, Vlad got up and left the room. He wandered through the house, searching for another shower, but there didn't seem to be any other options. Finally, he arrived at Ophelia's door, knocking firmly.

There was no answer at first, so he knocked again. This time, the door creaked open, revealing Ophelia standing there in a long white summer dress with floral patterns.

Vlad felt this weird feeling in his heart, like a pang of warmth as the face of his mother's smile flashed before him.

He took a breath as he steadied himself, this was no time to be getting emotional, the memories of past only brings pain and pain is not something he had to be thinking right now.

He let out a sigh and his eyes landed back on Ophelia.

The dress perfectly covering her figure, and her green hair shimmered wet under the dim lighting.

She smiled mischievously, stepping aside to let him in.

"Come in," she said in a singsong tone, grabbing his wrist and pulling him inside.

Vlad entered reluctantly, his eyes wandering around the room. He couldn't help but notice it was much larger and more comfortable than his.

His thoughts were interrupted when Ophelia suddenly wrapped her arms around him from behind. Her body pressed against his back, and she pulled him into a warm embrace.

"I don't have time for your games, Ophi," Vlad said flatly, though he didn't move to push her away. His tone, however, made it clear he wasn't interested.

Ophelia pouted, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Hmm, then why'd you come to my room?" she teased, her voice dripping with playful teasing.

"Zemo used all the water in ours." Vlad replied bluntly, ignoring her antics.

Ophelia sighed dramatically and released him. She sauntered over to her bed and fell over her bed as She threw a glance over her shoulder, flipping her hair slightly.

"Too bad," she said in a mock-disappointed tone. "We could've shared the shower."

"Not interested," Vlad replied curtly, shutting th door behind him.

---

Later, the four agents gathered around a circular dining table. Vlad sat between Ophelia and Zemo, while their instructor, Melina, sat across from them. She stubbed out her cigar on the edge of the table and exhaled a cloud of smoke before fixing them with a stern look.

"Let's get one thing straight," she began, her tone clipped and to the point. "I need to know exactly how much you know about this operation. If we're not on the same page, it'll jeopardize everything."

"Shouldn't you already know what we were told? You're supposed to be our handler," Zemo leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he said, his skepticism evident.

"I didn't write those files. That was Kruger's mess. He's got this ridiculous flair for creativity that only makes things harder for the rest of us. Stupid bastard." Melina rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively, her teeth clenched as she muttered curses under her breath.

"Our objective is to infiltrate the Reserve," Vlad decided to get to the point and explained. "We're supposed to gather intel on Captain America and the Howling Commandos."

"That's going to be harder than you think," Melina snorted, her tone laced with skepticism.

"Why?" Zemo asked, his eyes narrowing.

Melina leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. "The original plan was for me to assign you all to the documentation department. From there, you'd have access to the base and critical files. But that's not happening now."

"What changed?" Ophelia asked, tilting her head in confusion.

"They made me the head of documentation," Melina replied, irritation creeping into her voice. "I can't just bring in three random kids without raising suspicion."

The room fell silent as the agents considered their options. Vlad broke the silence with a suggestion.

"What if you only take one of us?" he asked, his expression thoughtful. "The others could work in support roles—lookouts, cleanup, whatever's necessary."

Melina raised an eyebrow, considering his idea.

"One operative wouldn't draw as much attention," she admitted. "It could work."

"Okay, but who goes in, and who stays out?" Zemo asked, his gaze shifting between Vlad and Ophelia.

"I can't take the girl," Melina said firmly, pointing at Ophelia. "She's too noticeable. I'm honestly surprised you made it past the checkpoint with her."

"I used my cuteness to charm them," Ophelia said proudly, oblivious to the insult embedded in Melina's remark.

Zemo sighed. "I can't go either. I've been to London before, and I'm pretty sure nobody would recognizes me but it's still a risk, and if my cover's blown, the mission is over. That leaves Vlad."

All eyes turned to Vlad, who nodded without hesitation.

"Fine," he said simply. "I'm in."

------

The heavy clouds above London had been pouring relentless rain for over an hour.

The city's streets were nearly deserted, the combination of the downpour and the lack of daylight driving most people indoors. Yet, in the outskirts of the city, a few souls still roamed—some were guards on patrol, others were desperate men in search of warmth and shelter for the night.

In one such dimly lit lane, the silhouette of a young man emerged through the sheets of rain.

He walked steadily, undeterred by the few curious or suspicious eyes that followed him from the shadows.

His long trench coat swayed with each purposeful step, soaking up the rain, much like his dark hair, which clung to his face. He seemed unbothered by the elements as he made his way to his destination.

Eventually, his journey ended at a modest inn nestled in the far corner of the city. Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The warmth of the room greeted him immediately, a welcome change from the cold rain outside.

He shrugged off his drenched trench coat, hanging it neatly over the back of a chair. Then, with quiet confidence, he walked across the room toward a familiar face.

"How did the scouting go?" Vlad asked as he dropped into the chair opposite Zemo, his fellow operative.

It had been a week since the young Hydra agents had arrived in London.

The first few days had been spent acclimating to the city—studying its layout, blending into its culture, and mapping out both its affluent and shadowy corners.

Their mission required precision and thorough preparation, and every moment counted.

Zemo exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair as he pulled a small leather-bound notebook from his jacket pocket.

"Not bad," he said, sliding the book across the table. "I dug up information on all the major players—the snobs, the crime families. Some of them have skeletons in their closets that could fill cemeteries."

"Anyone we can use?" Vlad asked, his tone sharp and focused as he flipped through the notebook.

"Take a look for yourself." Zemo gestured lazily, leaning back as if satisfied with his work.

Vlad's sharp eyes scanned the pages, which were meticulously detailed with names, connections, and potential leverage points.

Zemo had highlighted the most promising targets—the families and individuals they could exploit for their operation.

Their senior operative, Melina, had emphasized the importance of securing local allies—particularly criminal ones—to cover their tracks in case their mission went south.

"The Lee family is useless," Vlad muttered, flipping a page. "They barely have any influence beyond the immigrant community, and they've got too much dirt on them. If you found this, others will too."

Zemo nodded in agreement. "They're not worth the risk. Too unstable and too small-time."

"What about the Braddocks?" Vlad asked, glancing up. Zemo's relaxed demeanor shifted instantly. His eyes opened, and his expression turned grim.

"They're a no-go," Zemo replied with a sigh of frustration. "They're too public, too well-connected. They're tied to the Hellfire Club."

"The Hellfire Club?" Vlad asked, narrowing his eyes at the unfamiliar name.

Zemo explained, "It's a so-called 'social club' for the British elite—run by a man named Jacob Shaw. They claim to be philanthropists and cultural patrons, but they've got their fingers in just about every shady business imaginable. They're too visible. We can't afford that kind of attention."

Vlad nodded thoughtfully and returned to the notebook. "So, if none of these circled names work, who do you suggest?"

A sly smile spread across Zemo's face as he sat up straight, his earlier laziness replaced by enthusiasm.

"The Shelby family," he said, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. "They're a rising house, notorious and efficient. The locals call them the Peaky Blinders. Three brothers—war veterans—run the operation. They're racketeers, specializing in smuggling and fixing horse races. Simple, effective, and perfect for what we need."

Vlad frowned, tapping his fingers on the table as he mulled it over. During his own scouting, he'd heard whispers of the Blinders' exploits—brutal, cunning, and fiercely loyal to their own. If Zemo was confident in their usefulness, they might just be the allies they needed.

"Looks like you've done your homework," Vlad said at last.

Before Zemo could reply, they were startled by a voice cutting through the air. "And it seems you boys have been busy."

Both agents jumped to their feet in unison, their instincts kicking in. They circled around, fists clenched, scanning the room for the source of the voice.

Their tension eased when they saw Melina standing at the entrance, smirking. She had slipped in without either of them noticing—a fact that clearly unsettled Zemo.

"I didn't even sense you," Zemo admitted, a mix of disbelief and begrudging respect in his tone. He prided himself on his awareness, and her silent approach had caught him off guard.

Melina's smirk widened as she crossed the room, her boots clicking against the floor.

"If you had, I'd be ashamed of myself," she replied coolly. She tossed a file onto the table in front of Vlad and perched casually on its edge.

"That contains everything you need to know about your alias," she said, her tone firm and authoritative. "You start tomorrow at the camp. Memorize it."

Vlad nodded, picking up the file and flipping it open. His brow furrowed as he scanned the documents, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Wait," he muttered, holding up a page. "My name is—"

---

"Victor Deckan?" The soldier standing in front of him repeated the name with a skeptical look.

"That sounds… weirdly made up," an American officer muttered from the side.

"All names are made up, Hogan," Melina interjected smoothly, snatching the file from the officer's hands.

The British soldier scrutinized Vlad closely. "Isn't he too young for this?"

"I've already vouched for him," Melina replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Well, you're the boss," Hogan shrugged, turning to Vlad. "Welcome to hell, kiddo."

"Thank you, sir," Vlad replied with a polite smile, following Melina as she led him toward their new workstation.

The documentation office was situated in the heart of the base. As they walked, Vlad discreetly surveyed his surroundings, mentally cataloging the layout and key areas. Every detail could prove vital.

"Private Lorraine!" A commanding voice rang out from behind them, stopping Melina in her tracks.

Vlad turned and saw a woman striding toward them with confident authority. Her sharp gaze was icy and unyielding, locking onto him and Melina. Even without her uniform and captain's insignia, her demeanor alone would have given her rank away.

"Captain Carter," Melina greeted smoothly, her expression neutral.

"I want the files on 107 unit on my desk by nine," Carter ordered sharply, her tone brooking no dissent.

"It will be there, Captain," Melina replied without hesitation, her performance flawless.

Carter's gaze shifted to Vlad, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And this is?"

"My cousin from Oxford," Melina answered smoothly. "Victor."

"How old are you?" Carter asked, her cold gaze lingering on him.

"Fifteen, ma'am," Vlad replied, meeting her gaze steadily.

Carter glanced between the two of them, her expression unreadable.

Finally, she barked, "Do your job, cadet," before walking away.

Vlad watched her retreat, his dislike for her palpable.

"I don't like her," he muttered under his breath.

"Neither do I," Melina agreed, motioning for him to follow. "She's my only obstacle to get close to the target."

"Then I guess we need to take care of her first."